Cricket returns to the Rich Man's Club

Nilanjana Sengupta / TNN / Oct 8, 2006, 00:27 IST

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After thirty three years in exile, the Brabourne stadium returns as a snooty host.

In the beginning, there was no Wankhede stadium. Being a cricket spectator did not feel like being in a Virar fast. Oranges were allowed. Water bottles and other missiles too. Toilets were many. Bladders were not controlled through meditative powers or released suddenly at the stroke of a sudden six.
In the beginning, there was Brabourne. A battle between what was then the Bombay Cricket Association (BCA) and the affluent Cricket Club of India (CCI), created the need for Wankhede, and with that cricket vanished from CCI's beloved Brabourne.
Now, 33 years after the last international match was played there, the ICC's fear of stadiums with emblazoned corporate logos like in Wankhede, has made Brabourne one of the venues for the Champions Trophy.
But through its long period of exile, cricket and life has changed. Once upon a time it was something else to be in Brabourne.

The stadium harboured the vision of becoming the Indian edition of the Marylebone Cricket Club, the ancient fountainhead of cricket and the name that the English team bore for many decades.
When Brabourne was officially opened in December 1937, after construction was completed in a record time of 18 months, the cricketing world sat up to take notice of the magnificent ground, club house and pavilion built by the CCI, and named after Lord Brabourne, the then Governor of Bombay.
Around that time, the life members paid a membership fee of Rs 100 (which Vinoo Mankad paid in four installments of Rs 25), and ordinary members paid Rs 10 as entrance fee and an annual subscription of Rs 15. Now the life membership is worth almost Rs 12 lakh.
Those days, eager spectators in their narrow bottom trousers that preceded the flared bottom revolution, used to fill up the stands even for domestic matches. Before the first Test was played here between India and the West Indies in 1948, the major attraction used to be the Pentagulars which featured teams divided on the basis of the players' religion.
As the Hindus, Muslims, Europeans, Parsis and the Rest (mainly Indian Christians) battled it out on the ground, their supporters cheered and occasionally shone mirrors from the special Gymkhana stands.
As the manual scoreboard atop the press box also called the press tent because of its shamiana would be updated only after every 10 runs, fans had to keep a tab of the score on their own.
Time and again, a stray Englishman in a special stand with cane chairs would shout out at the turbanned attendant, "Chokra, what's the score?" In the press tent, The Times Of India had its own scorer.
The really serious followers would not mind scraping together another 12 paise to buy the CCI's official scorecard. Between 1937 to 1946, during which eight Pentagulars were held at the CCI, the tournament had begun to generate interest across the country.
It also led to a campaign in 1940 by commentator A F S Talyarkhan who objected to the matches being played on communal lines. The debate raised a storm and even Mahatma Gandhi, who was then protesting against Britain's refusal to allow Indians to express their opinions on World War II, was sought for his views.
His reply, "I am opposed to communalism in every walk of life and more so in sport," led to the Hindu team to withdraw from that year's tournament. In 1942, Gandhi's Quit India movement, and the subsequent mass arrest of leaders, resulted in the Pentagulars being suspended for a year.
Inside the Brabourne stadium though, the Indian cricket fan was living a charmed life. Most preferred to get dabbas of homemade food to gorge on during the unusually long lunch break of an hour. One way to needle the opposition when they were batting, was to scream, "Bowled," just as the Indian bowler ran up to bowl.
The other way to disturb the batsman's concentration was to start clapping, just as he would get ready to face the bowler. In the first test, a West Indian batsman moved away from the crease after this happened a couple of times. Only after being told that this was normal crowd behaviour did he agree to resume batting.
Most of the matches at the Brabourne were played in front of a generally well-disciplined full house. But in 1969, in a rare display of their emotions, the spectators in the East stand, which mainly comprised mill workers, lit bonfires when S Venkataraghavan was adjudged out, and India lost the test to Australia.
On that hot afternoon, the entire stadium had heard radio commentator Devraj Puri, father of Narottam Puri, suggesting that the decision was wrong. At first bottles they were still being allowed inside Indian stadiums before the tear-with-your teeth-water-pouch was invented were thrown on the field.
Eventually, the Australians walked off but not before John Gleeson was hit by a bottle and Bill Lawry by a wicker chair that was dropped on him from a balcony.
Not all infringements were violent. A Parsi girl jumped over the cordon onto the field and ran up to plant a kiss on Abbas Ali Baig's cheek as he walked back to the pavilion.
"The girl was not blushing, but Baig definitely was," recalls Raj Singh Dungarpur, the current CCI president, and captain of the club's team from 1967 to 1970. A stylish set of filmstars like Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor, and industrialists used to be in attendance. Bishen Singh Bedi remembers that crowd as, "smashing".
After hosting 17 tests, the Brabourne era came to an end. The Bombay Cricket Association and the CCI were in a long battle over tickets. Finally the BCA, in its search for independence, built the Wankhede less than a mile away.

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